The Medina, or Old City, of Fes is often considered as encompassing the two old quarters of Fes el-Jdid, where the royal palace is located, and Fes el-Bali, which constitutes the commercial and cultural hub. But the two are very different, and although both are quite old, Fes el-Bali is by far the older of the two, having been founded in the eighth century CE. Fes el-Jdid was begun in the 13th century as an administrative capital for Fes el-Bali. The wide boulevards and open squares of the palace area seem a world apart from the narrow alleys and packed market stalls of the Fes el-Bali. Entering those crowded lanes, I felt that I was traveling back in time to the world of the medieval and early modern era. Butchered meat was laid out on open tables for close inspection; traders hawked their wares in front of their shops; donkeys hauled their burdens through the streets, from which cars and trucks were banned. To me, life in such surroundings seems less constricted and sterile, earthier, more sensuous and piquant. Of course, it’s also less hygienic, but then it wasn’t entirely premodern; no open sewers or people throwing garbage out of windows onto the heads of passers-by. Also, as far as I remember, no beggars, although there were plenty of aggressive vendors.
But Fes el-Bali is not only a commercial hub – it is a cultural and religious center as well, home to some of the Islamic world’s most venerable institutions. Foremost among them is the University of Al-Qarawiyyin, considered by some authorities to be the oldest continuously operating institution of higher learning in the world. It was founded as a mosque in the ninth century, but for most of its history it operated as a madrassah, a school of Islamic studies. Since 1963, when it was incorporated into the Moroccan state university system, it has also taught some secular subjects, although the curriculum remains predominantly Islamic. We did not visit Al-Qarawiyyin, since its main attraction, the mosque, is not open to non-Muslims. Instead, wending our way through the crowded streets, we followed our guides (there were several, so as to ride herd on us and keep individuals from becoming detached and lost in the throng) to a nearby and no less venerable institution, al-Attarine Madrasah, which does welcome infidels. Perhaps this is because it is run by cats. This was evident when we entered the central court of the establishment, where a cat was strolling about near the central fountain, quite confident that it was in charge, and clearly well-disposed to us tourists as well as the staff. Al-Attarine was so named because it was located close to the spice and perfume market in the Medina (cf. the English word “attar,” as in “attar of roses,” deriving from an Arabic/Persian word for perfume).
The madrasah was a type of academy that originated in northeastern Iran in the early 11th century with the purpose of training students in Islamic subjects, especially religious law and jurisprudence. (I go back a long way with madrasahs, having stayed in one – the Char-Minar, at that time being used as a hostel – for a few days in Bukhara, Uzbekistan in April 1973.) But madrasahs really came into their own in Morocco in the 14th century CE.
In the 13th century CE a faction of Berber nomads known as the Marinids overthrew the ruling Almohad dynasty of Morocco and established their own regime. They made their capital at Fes, and they found the madrasah a useful institution for fostering orthodox Islamic teachings against what they considered the heretical doctrines of their Almohad predecessors, in the interest of bolstering their legitimacy. They established a number of madrasahs in Fes in hopes of securing the loyalty of the city’s notoriously unruly intellectual elite and of educating candidates for government service. The madrasahs, including al-Attarine, were mostly located near Al-Qarawiyyin University, and in addition to teaching their own curricula, they supported the university by providing food and lodging for poor students, which the university did not. The madrasahs were typically supported by charitable trusts endowed with properties by the sultan.
Entering al-Attarine via the vestibule at its west end, we passed through an archway into the courtyard. There our Moroccan guide, Karim, explained the layout and operations of the madrasah, while the cat who actually ran the place strolled about to ensure that the visitors observed correct decorum and did not get into mischief.
Entry to the al-Attarine courtyard is from the west; on the east side is the entrance to the prayer hall. On the north and south sides are galleries with square pillars and marble columns supporting a melange of wooden and stucco muqarnas arches. The galleries in turn support the second floor, which is accessible by a stairway, and which originally contained thirty rooms serving as a dormitory for the students. Some of our group, including our tour leader Manuel, ascended the stairway and took in Karim’s talk from the second-floor windows. The feline custodian made no objection.
We also visited the prayer hall at the eastern end, which is somewhat unusual for its time and place. Usually Marinid madrasahs were built with the main axis aligned with the qibla, the direction of prayer (i.e. toward Mecca), so that the prayer hall with its mihrab, or prayer niche, would also be oriented in that direction. That would have been on the east wall in this case, but the geometry of the space available to the builders did not allow for the normal arrangement, so instead they located the mihrab of the al-Attarine madrasah on the south wall of the prayer hall. They also built a square wooden cupola over the space in front of the mihrab, with a stunning bronze chandelier (flanked by two smaller bronze lanterns) dangling from the ceiling.
The al-Attarine madrasah is considered to represent the apogee of Marinid architecture, and nowhere is this more evident in the tilework. In the courtyard the floor, lower walls and pillars are all covered with zellij (mosaic tilework), arranged in geometric motifs; at eye level there is a band of sgraffito-style tiles with calligraphic inscriptions. Above the tilework, the courtyard as well as the interior rooms are adorned with intricately carved stucco decorations, including arches and niches sculpted with muqarnas. At the highest levels are ceilings, eaves and panels consisting of elaborately carved cedarwood. As with the Moorish palaces of Andalusia, the overall effect is overwhelming, a feast for the eyes, and I regard Moorish/Moroccan architecture as among the most sublime achievements of the human race.
But now it was time for lunch, which we enjoyed in an upstairs restaurant not far from al-Attarine. I’m not sure about the exact location, but afterwards we were able to venture out on the terrace to get a rooftop view of the Medina. It was quite an expansive vista, but given our brief acquaintance with the area, it was hard to identify many of the structures and landmarks we were seeing. Easily the most identifiable and striking was the Zawiya (or zaouia) of Moulay Idris II, who ruled Fes from 807 to 828 and is considered its primary founder. A zawiya is an Islamic shrine and religious complex, and the Zawiya of Moulay Idris II is considered one of the holiest shrines of Morocco. It contains the tomb and mausoleum of Idris II, lavishly furnished and decorated. It is recognizable from afar by its minaret, the tallest in Fes el-Bali, and the large pyramidal roof of the mausoleum chamber. It is closed to non-Muslims, but we were able to get a glimpse of the interior later in the afternoon.
Fes is historically a center of production for high-quality leather goods, and there are several tanneries in the Medina. It turned out that one of them was just downstairs from our vantage point. This was not a coincidence, but rather a planned stop on the tour itinerary, and as we surveyed the tannery from our aerie, our guide gave us a rundown on the process of tanning hides and turning them into fine leather articles.
Descending back to street level in the labyrinthine Medina, we were led past the portals of the Zawiya of Moulay Idris II, where we sneaked a peek into its gorgeously carpeted anteroom, to a shop where the final products of the tannery we had just visited are sold. The wares were attractive, but the prices not so much, and the salesmen were among the most annoying we encountered in Morocco. It was memorable only because Manuel Sueiras started a new fashion trend with a piece of headgear, composed entirely of string, that he tried on in the shop. It soon became all the rage, and before we left Morocco it had spread over the country like wildfire, displacing the traditional fez hat that had been worn in the city since time immemorial.
Of course I didn’t expect anyone to believe that last outrageous lie. Actually the fez, or tarboush – a short, cylindrical, brimless and peakless red hat with a tassel attached to the top – was associated mainly with 19th-century Ottoman Turkey, where Sultan Mahmoud II decreed it to be worn by all civil and religious officials. Though it may indeed have originated in the Maghreb, it was called the fez because Fes was the source of the dye used to color the felt. Tarboush was the Turkish name. I never saw one being worn in Fes – or Turkey, for that matter: it was outlawed in 1925 as part of Atatürk’s reforms.